Page 81 of Beautiful Ascension

A genuine look of admiration lines King’s face. “Ah, Owen. Always a pleasure to be in the company of someone whose thirst for blood nearly rivals mine.”

Dipping his chin, Owen replies, “Hopefully, one day, in the near future, we can make a game out of it—perhaps the person who collects the most blood.”

“Oh, count me in,” Wyatt interjects, and we all follow suit. There’s not a snowball’s chance in hell any of us would miss out on an opportunity to slaughter our enemies and win bragging rights.

A throat clears, drawing our attention to Matthieu. “It’s time for everyone to get into position. Senator Baker has arrived, and he’s brought along five more people.”

“How was he able to get them in without us knowing?” I inquire.

“The Senator called an hour before you arrived requesting to have guests added to his list. I was ready to refuse when I found out they’re currently members,” Matthieu explains.

Lev already has his phone out, his fingers flying across the screen, adjusting for unknown new players. “How many new guests are there?” he mutters, obviously annoyed with the last-minute additions.

“Five,” is all Matthieu states. He’s being purposely obtuse, only answering questions he’s being asked instead of providing us with everything he knows.

Sighing, I check my watch. We have twenty minutes before tonight’s festivities to begin. “Well, don’t keep us in the dark. Who are they?”

The slight twitch of his right eye is the only indicator he doesn’t appreciate my pushing the issue. However, he knows we can’t afford to go in blind. We all stand in silence, waiting for answers. He huffs, then finally says, “The Council.”

37

LEV

“What the fuck is the Council doing here?” Wes seethes, pacing the length of the room. “Have they been in on this all along?”

I don’t bother to stop him from processing the bomb Matthieu dropped before insisting we follow him to the area we’ll have as our headquarters for the night. Time is ticking away as we follow behind him, but the stench of betrayal coats the large surveillance room—barely allowing us enough air to breathe.

As Wes continues to wear a hole in the floor, Wyatt, Owen, and Sebastian stand behind me, watching the Council mingle amongst known enemies. “I might believe our fathers are behind this, but there’s absolutely no fucking way Aaron Bradford would do this to Ariah,” Owen mutters.

“How well do we know him to assume that?” Sebastian retorts, lifting his hand to list his thoughts. “The man was forced into hiding for decades, his spot as the rightful leader of the Fraternitas was given away, and his family was torn apart.” Looking at Owen, he arches his blond brow. “Should I continue because I can do this for days?”

He isn’t lying. Aaron has lost a lot, and, in many aspects, he’s still being forced to sacrifice more of himself and his family. That alone is reason enough to jump ship.

“You can count your fingers as much as you want to, Bash. It won’t change the fact that Aaron Bradford would sooner gut himself like a fish before he sold out any of his kids,” Owen snaps back, clenching his jaw as his ears redden.

Wes stills. “Owen has a point. At no point in time has Aaron given any cause for suspicion.”

“That could make him the perfect Judas,” I offer, and Wyatt snorts. “What, you don’t think it’s possible?”

“You all need to be more rational. I’m usually the one with wild accusations,” Wes states, finally giving up his pacing and sitting down.

I grimace. There’s nothing rational about anything that’s happened in the last year. Maybe not even in the last few centuries. If someone were to examine how and why the Fraternitas was established, they’d think it was out of some conspiracy-theory-suspense novel.

“It’s perfectly reasonable to believe the Council could conspire with the enemy. They could easily think it’s the best way to continue to keep power,” Sebastian suggests.

Before anyone can respond, Matthieu appears on screen, entering the room and greeting Senator Baker and his guests. “Senator. It’s good to have you back.” He pauses, swiveling his head. “And with guests this time.”

Stepping forward, Wes’s father extends his hand. “Matthieu. It’s been a long time.”

“Donald.” Matthieu nods, doing the same. “Always a pleasure.”

They shake hands before someone lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Can we get on with this shit? I came here to fuck and kill, not sit around,” Brian shouts, drawing the attention of everyone in the room.

“What the hell do you mean kill?” Isabella. The president’s daughter wasn’t entirely in the loop. Her crystal-blue eyes, ringed with gray, stand out against her porcelain skin and wavy raven hair that falls past her shoulders. Matthieu’s gaze is fixed on her, but she looks everywhere but at him. His jaw momentarily clenches before his features smooth out. The calm exterior that he’s known for carefully sliding back into place.

Senator Baker’s nostrils flare at his outburst. “Please forgive Mr. Porter. He seems to have left his manners at home this evening.” Brian’s face reddens at the apparent slight.

“Trouble in paradise,” Wyatt snorts, and I hum in agreement. This night just got a little more interesting.

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